Jay & Miles

by ColumbusGuy

Chapter 10

Saturday Afternoon

POV: Jay

11:50AM. I pulled into Mikey's driveway; not seeing any other cars I assumed his parents were at work, or out doing errands. I parked in front of the second garage door which was closed. Mikey said that their yard stuff and other tools were in there, so I figured it would be an out of the way spot. Now that I was actually here, I was suddenly nervous; last night was so good, but was it the relief of having saved his life which fuelled our connection, or was it more than that? In the heat of the moment, I couldn't remember if I'd told him how I felt....

When I'd heard his joking reply on Tuesday about giving me a blow job, my mind went into orbit with the thought that I might actually have sex with another boy! The boy part wasn't a problem for me—I'd known since I started puberty that I had no interest in girls, the problem was whether Mikey was The One. My brain seemed shocked last night when the word love entered my head during CPR, but in the clear morning light, outside his house, I was giving it serious consideration. Unnoticed, Fleetwood Mac's Rhiannon was playing softly as my mind went in circles...as Draggin' The Line segued into Junk Food Junkie, I jumped to feel a hand on my shoulder through the open window.

"Jay...you okay?" Mikey jerked his hand back as if burned when my sudden move startled him. "You've been out here for a while...don't you want to come in?" The uncertainty was back in his voice, and also the vulnerability had returned to his eyes. I wondered if it ever really left—but I was determined to drive it away if it was the last thing I ever did.

Seeing him again, looking at his worried smile, I knew—Mikey is The One—for me. I turned off my radio, then the motor, before getting out of the truck to face him. I stared into his eyes like he was the only thing in the world, and slowly extended my arm to reach toward his chest. My voice came out in a low monotone.

"I am for you, Miles Stevenson."

Mikey's face was blank, not knowing if I was insane or what. I took a step closer, arm still out. Again the monotone, but I was having a hard time not grinning.

"I am only for Stevenson." Miles tilted his head to one side, trying to figure out what I was doing. Then it must have dawned on him. He took a step back.

"Lucky Stevenson." He took another step back, closer to the garage, and safety. I moved forward again, Mikey backing up in time with my progress. Every step or two, I'd speak again in that slightly ominous tone.

"I must touch you..." "I beg it..." "It is my existence."

We made our way through the garage before I had him cornered at the door to the utility room. "You are my match, Miles Stevenson. I MUST touch you." He looked panicked as my palm came to rest on his chest, and faked a scream of pain. I grinned evilly, and took that last step forward, pressing my lips gently to his. It was a strange kiss, each of us trying hard not to laugh, but even so, I felt him relax as pent-up tensions ebbed away.

I took in the sight of him with a lingering glance once I broke the kiss. Our breathing was slightly ragged, but that was okay. His dark hair was brushed and parted like always, but in the very front there was one peculiar lock which refused to stay where it was intended. His glasses slightly enlarged his eyes, but the scattered reflections off the lenses hid the details of his brown-hazel orbs. His shoulders were covered by his grey sweater, his legs in loose-fitting light-blue jeans. Once again, I caught the faint scent of apples from his hair.

Mikey opened the door, and we were inside the house, where I pulled off my boots. When I stood back up, Mikey was holding out a black leather belt. "You might want this before you go home again. I found it by the dryer."

I took it from his hand, letting my fingers linger a moment before threading it through my belt loops. I smiled shyly as I watched him stand there uncertainly. He was watching my every move, wanting to do something, but still wondering what I might do in return. "Like what you see," I asked, after a moment indicating my bright blue tee-shirt with yellow four-inch lettering proclaiming:

SOCK IT TO...ME?

I turned my back slightly so he could see the picture of Richard Nixon printed in living color. I heard him snort, "Cripes, Jay—don't tell me you like Laugh-In as much as I do?"

"You bet your sweet bippy, I do!" I giggled insanely.

He followed me into the kitchen, so I made a special effort to clench my cheeks a bit. I love driving Mikey crazy! He pulled open the refrigerator door and handed me a bottle of Pepsi before taking one for himself. I could tell it was Pepsi even if I hadn't seen the logo—each major soda company had a distinctive bottle: Coke was all graceful curves and vertical ridges, Pepsi was clear with spiral ridges around it, and RC was vertical flutes in greenish glass.

"I didn't know what we were doing today...am I dressed okay?" He fingered his cable-knit sweater a bit before I grabbed his hand, leading him over to the couch. Like the previous night, I let him decide how close to sit, and held out my hand for him to take. Mikey gave me one of his awesomely cute shy smiles as he took it, leaning shoulder to shoulder with me.

"You look keen—but the sweater might be a bit warm depending on how the day goes." It was his turn to shoot me an evil grin as he pulled his sweater out slightly, then guided my hand to slip underneath. I felt nothing but toned skin and muscle under the soft knit.

"It's cool, Jay. I just don't know what we're doing so I had to guess. Will you give me a hint?" As an incentive, he let me run my fingers over his abdomen's ridges of light muscle for a few minutes. "Can I have that hint now?"

I shook my head, taking time to move my hand a little further up his sweater. "Nope, not ready yet." My questing fingers had nearly reached his left pec before he changed his tactics—if temptation wasn't going to work, he decided to be tough. He pulled my hand out from his shirt.

"You just want a cheap thrill—well, no dice. No hint, no fun."

I tried putting my hand back, but he actually slapped it away! "No way, man! And don't say 'dinner'—because I already know you're feeding me!" Damn, Mikey was getting wise to some of my tricks! I looked up at him from under my lashes and frowned, giving him my best 'puppy-dog' pout.

"You're a dick, you know that?" But he smiled when he said it, and let go of my hand, which immediately went back under his sweater to caress those soft skin-clad muscles. "Just tell me this: when are we leaving?"

I leaned my forehead against his neck and whispered so my breath raised goose-bumps on his skin. "I'd really like it if we could just stay right here for an hour or so...like we did last night." I ended with a soft kiss to his ear.

So, for the next hour, we lay on the sofa as we had last night, facing one another, our legs mingling and feet rubbing, and between kisses, I lay my head on his shoulder. We talked in low murmurs when we talked at all, and eventually, I found myself stretched out on top of him, pressing our bodies intimately together, more as a strengthening of our new connection than as physical desire—though that was there as well. Much as I wanted to, I wouldn't pressure Mikey into going any further than he was ready for; while both of our bodies were more than eager to get more intimate, it didn't feel like the right time for that yet. I would let Mikey set the pace when he was emotionally ready, then, if I felt the same, we'd climb into our Saturn V rocket and blast our way to the Moon!

"Miles..." I kissed him softly and moved beside him again. "I need to know something—it's real important to me—I think I know why you keep the car, but why did you try to do It? Why didn't you answer the phone?" I was afraid to ask, but I couldn't risk not knowing and perhaps having it happen again. Mikey Stevenson meant everything to me.

Mikey went quiet next to me for long minutes, and I thought he might not answer, but he searched my eyes, and something must have given him what he needed in order to speak. He started slowly, letting his left arm lay across my side and rub at my back as I lay curled into his right one.

"The car's the easy part...it's the first thing I did for myself—I paid for it with my own money, worked on the body fixing rust and holes and touching up the paint...washing it and waxing it to a high polish; seeing it reminds me that I can do something right—if I got rid of it, then it means that I've given up. On everything."

I stroked his cheek with the back of my hand, and soppy as it sounds, I leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. His glasses had been lying on the coffee-table all this while, and I saw tears start to well up in his eyes. I brushed them away with my thumb, and he let out a sigh. "Seems every time we're together you have to wipe away my tears. How long until you get tired of doing that?"

I gave him another evil grin, and bit the end of his nose this time. "Until I don't have to any more—even if it takes forever—and you'll do the same for me, won't you?"

"As long as I can, Jay—as long as you need or want me to." I watched him lick his lips, and I reached behind us to grab one of the bottles of pop—now sadly warm—and let him take a drink before doing the same myself. He smiled when I licked my lips, and blew across the mouth of the bottle to produce a low-pitched whistle. I raised my eyebrows and my tongue licked around the bottle's top, making the glass glisten and slick. I pursed my lips as I sucked down another mouthful, then offered it to him. Despite the redness of his cheeks, he put the bottle to his lips, tilted it back and took his own sip, managing to slide three or four inches of it into his mouth!

"I gotta warn you Jay...I'm a mess." Having seen his room, I was sure he wasn't talking about house-keeping. I just nodded my head for him to go on, and settled in against him as I watched his face. The fact that he seemed to be opening up to me made my heart swell with pride and a renewed determination to see that he never got hurt again.

"You see me how, Jay? Somebody quiet, shy but happy?" At my nod, he went on, "It's a lie, mostly. Quiet and shy, yes that's me all over, but not happy...not usually. I think it started in elementary school, because I can remember being happy with the neighbor kids: riding bikes, playing in the yard or with toys at each others' houses...once we went to school, it wasn't the same—I couldn't do the more physical games in gym, I was always told to be careful or I might lose my sight. So, bit by bit, I'd hang back a little more every time something was going on, especially if it was something I could get hurt doing; before too long, I was an observer of my own life. I did what I had to: ate, slept, studied...but it was another person doing it...life was something other people had, it didn't involve me in any way. I was inside, safe, untouchable...and alone."

I pulled Mikey in tighter to me, giving him what comfort I could. His tone was even, his face carefully neutral, but his eyes held a bleakness I'd never seen in anyone before. His hurt was so deep I didn't know if I'd ever be able to alleviate it....

"Safety is an illusion, Jay...it may look attractive, but it kills those who come to rely on it. It's like a drug—pretty soon you can't do without it, however much you might want to try. By the time I got to understand that, two things had become clear to me: first, that my friends didn't need me or really miss me; second, the old saying 'the squeaky wheel gets the grease' was true of people as well—to remain safe, and not get noticed, I had to appear happy no matter what I felt inside."

At this point, I saw a spark in his eyes, and hoped that it would be one of happiness...in a way, it was. "For nearly ten years things went on much the same...until I met you....Being safe wasn't the refuge it had been, I realized that it was a prison instead, that it was keeping me in solitary confinement. I can't explain it, but there's something about you that makes me want something more than safety. Block by block you were dismantling my prison walls with every greeting, every nice word, every overture of friendliness. As much as I might want to leave my prison, I couldn't do it alone—I could see the daylight, I could feel freedom like the currents of a strong wind wafting over the walls, but I had not the wings to take advantage of them. I hoped you would be my wings, Jay...then, Friday, I thought I'd lost you...and my hope died before it was truly born.

"The prison was back: heavier, stronger than it had ever been, and I knew in my deepest being, that I couldn't endure it again. You might have called, I don't really know...I looked around, tidied up my last details, and went to meet my Fate."

I couldn't help it...at this point I was crying, like a baby, for all the sorrow, all the despair—all the loneliness my Mikey had been through over these past years. I wrapped myself around him like a boa constrictor, using all the strength I had to reässure him—let him know that he'd never be alone—not until I drew my last breath. We cried for a while on one another's shoulders, drawing comfort from each other's presence.

At length, I pulled my head back enough to kiss him again, and it was my turn to reveal myself to him. My past was not so dark, so desolate, but it was not always ideal. Thanks to Mom and Dad, Jerry, and even Her, I never lacked for emotional support or even things if I needed them...my problem was more subtle: I lacked focus. I was mostly happy, with an occasional mood like all teenagers, but when it came to life I was content to drift; there was nothing important to keep me interested—no, that wasn't it exactly—nothing that could absorb my imagination or engage my efforts over the long haul. I felt like an old tree after a bad storm, easily toppled because I lacked depth, lacked strong roots.

I expected Mikey to laugh at me for being so shallow...my problems were so much less dangerous than his, so much less shattering. He didn't laugh at me, he hugged me back, and planted a kiss on my cheek. Was I surprised?—in the four months or so I'd come to know him, and after last night and today's conversation—no.

I was surprised when he rolled over me and got up off the couch. He pulled me up with seemingly little effort, and drew me into a passionate kiss, complete with a sinuous exchange of probing tongues. In just a moment, he led me to his bedroom, where he sat me down on the edge of his bed. He opened his closet door, then turned to face me with a demented grin.

"Since I don't know what we're doing on our date tonight, you have the enviable task of picking out what I'll be wearing!" With a flourish, he was back facing the closet about to make his selections, when I came up behind him, wrapped him in my arms, and reached up to plant a kiss on the side of his cheek as I leaned forward over his shoulder.

"That, and that!" I said, pointing to his red shirt and cream-colored chinos he'd worn last night before I arrived. I turned to his dresser, opening drawers as if searching for something, although I knew exactly what I was looking for! I couldn't find them! This sucked as bad as disco! "Where are they?"

"What? I've got my shirt and pants, what else will I need?"

I literally growled at him from frustration. "You know what I mean—where are your purple briefs?"

He grabbed his wallet and keys off his dresser top, and sauntered toward the hall and living room beyond. He was in the utility room before I caught up with him and turned him to face me by gripping his arm. He smiled when he saw the fire in my eyes.

"What makes you think you'll see them?" he asked sweetly.

"Dickhead, I already saw them last night!"

"And this means you expect to see them again, how?" Now he was taunting me! Fuck, he could be evil when he wanted to...and he led me out into the garage, locking the door behind us. Just as he was lowering the overhead door, he turned to me and whispered right next to my ear: "I'm wearing them!"...he then stuck his tongue in my ear before sprinting for the alleged safety of my truck.

By the time he got the door open, I was on him: I jumped onto the running board so I could reach, and gave him a noogie, mussing the waves in his brown hair. His yelp was loud, and I saw he was really laughing by the twinkle in his eyes. "That was so bogus—giving me a wet willie like that!"

"And the noogie wasn't?" he exclaimed. "Just for that, it'll be a long time before you see my willie!"

"Probably not even worth it," I muttered just loud enough for him to hear. From what little I could recall glimpsing last night in his shorts, I knew that was likely a lie.

"Oh...it's worth it, I ga-ron-tee!" he said in a great imitation of Justin Wilson, the Cajun chef from Louisiana we had heard about in Home Ec, and had caught on PBS occasionally.

I was about to slide into the truck from my perch on the running board, when Mikey put a hand on my arm to keep me facing him. He had the most serious look on his face, and his eyes shone with an inner light that even in the daytime I couldn't help but see.

"Jay..." his voice was filled with emotion, more than I'd ever heard before. "You asked what you could do to help....

"I will be your roots to support you, if you will be my wings to make me soar..."

I didn't care...in front of God and any neighbors who might be watching from the distant houses—I took his face between both my trembling hands and kissed him!

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